Love, Magic, and Other Mysteries
by ShroudedbyDusk
Summary: Relak'in is a three century old High Elf arcanist. When an old enemy, the Thalmor, drive him from Firsthold, Summerset Isles, he is hurled into the land of Skyrim to restore it to its rightful owners, and have a few adventures of his own along the way. He will find love, loss, friendship, and mystery in the land of the Nords. Rated M for Lemons and vivid wounds. Please review.
1. Elven Aggression

**30****th ****of Frostfall 4E169**

**Master Relak'in **

**Aldmeri Dominion – Firsthold, Summerset Isles **

**-Chapter One, 'Elven Aggression'**

Master Relak'in believed he was cursed. Excitement and merriment gathered in the streets of Aldmeri cities on the isles of Summerset from Alinor to Firsthold. Today was the anniversary of the start of the Great War with the Empire which occupied much of Tamriel, from Elsweyr to Skyrim. Through a series of masterful assaults, a new authoritarian government formed by the Altmer titled the Aldmeri Dominion, obliterated the Imperial's hold on the provinces of Elsweyr and Valenwood. The master elementalist, Relak'in, has seen all the events of the past 300 years unfold before him. His curse, he believed, was to be bombarded with excited patrons clambering through the streets, and falling at his feet begging for a septim.

He snapped shut the dusty tome he was leisurely skim-reading. He knew everything there was to know about magick, save the Thu'um, but that was a subject not discussed here in his homeland. The populace was far too evolved, far too sophisticated to even think about the possibility to use one's voice for magic! The impudence! Relak'in shook his head violently, and threw the book on his ornate desk constructed by Aldmeri craftsmen using the wood from a Lunar Oak tree. He strolled towards his bookshelf, and selected a leather-bound tome he inherited from his office's predecessor. It was nothing but old alchemical notes; he forced open his tinted glass window, set the book on fire, and hurled it toward the ocean. Something twitched at the back of his mind, and he found it bothersome. Suddenly, letting his instincts drive him, he twirled around, and a ring of fire formed a cylindrical prison near the balustrade which burnt markings into his decorative carpet, but left his stone floor untouched. From inside the incarceration, a silhouette of a woman's figure touched the flame barrier. She immediately recoiled backward in pain, for Relak'in had bested her magic. Which was not unusual, after all, he could best anyone.

He waved a small perimeter square away from the inferno. His eyes didn't widen at the sight of the intruder. "Elenwen, I'm ever so surprised to see you here. I suppose you've come to dazzle me with offers of adventure and glory?" Relak'in asked noncommittally.

Elenwen sighed. "You've rejected too many said offers. I won't bother venturing into that topic any longer. Well you kindly let me out of here, before I'm seared like a greasy slaughterfish?"

"Well, you got the greasy part right," Relak'in chuckled heartily, "But yes, I will release you, for now."

Relak'in unbound his elemental prison, and gestured Elenwen to a decoratively carved chair on the opposite side of his desk. Instead of taking the gesture, she slapped Relak'in, and stepped on his toe, before pushing him, howling and screaming, towards his vanity. He got to his feet, and examined himself in the mirror. A slender pink hand mark spread itself across his face. He sighed. "Pity, that. One thing a master sorcerer tends to enjoy is retribution. Prepare for just that, you snivelling high-class swine!" Relak'in cried in anger. Elenwen turned to flee, but it was too late. Her masterful adversary had already incarcerated her in astral binding. They created seared black markings into her fair skin, and she bit her lip in fury. Relak'in opened a tome and withdrew a gilded Elven crafted dagger from its hollowed out spine. Slowly, not letting her out of his grasp, he severed her bindings. The ropes fell to the ground limply, before dissipating entirely. For a while, they just stood like that, before Relak'in pushed her effortlessly to the ground, face first. He planted his knife in the folds of her robes, and began to tear the fabric vertically, ascending towards the embroidered collar. Her garments fell around her, leaving only her, exposed in her underwear. She raised two fingers into the air, and the braziers surrounding the room extinguished. Just as her brassiere was removed and the couple started to kiss, the window shutters silently blocked the blissful and warm afternoon air, and all was dark, but definitely not silent.

A few hours later, crimson light from the setting sun flooded into the small living space. The velvet lavender curtains hung limply, as if their life force was strangled out by the blood-red tendrils of sunlight streaming in from the insignificant cracks formed through the ancient window shutters. A singular window was revealed, and from this window Master Relak'in stared out across the Abecean Sea, towards the larger island. Elenwen was still sleeping silently in his bed. Her golden blonde entangled her sharp features. Relak'in breathed heavily, and maintained his stare. Her sudden appearance cannot bode well for him. She is a member of the Thalmor, the ruling body of the Aldmeri Dominion. He didn't care for the Thalmor. They restricted the Empire to the White-Gold Concordat, prohibited the worship of Talos, and gave the Dominion free reign over the lands of the Empire. Whatever she wished of him, it was to further her and the Thalmor's cause, not his own. He ignited a spark of flame in his hand, and relit the braziers around his room. After this, he descended the stairs and walked into the paved streets of Firsthold, leaving the mistress in her bed. He leisurely strolled through the streets, chin held high. Eventually, he came across a Khajiit tailor selling his clothes and textiles from a booth in the market square. He purchased an embroidered gown and matching footwear. He nodded at the cat-man, showing him some respect, before departing. He arrived at his abode a while later.

Elenwen was perched on the bottom step of the wooden staircase, as she wore nothing but a wicked smile when Relak'in ambled into the room. Without even mumbling a syllable he tossed the garments he purchased gently towards her. She gingerly took them, and adorned them.

"There is some business we must discuss," Elenwen said, "Thalmor business."

Relak'in flared his nostrils and gave her a hostile stare. "I will not help your Dominion. You obviously don't need assistance destroying the Empire's free will." Relak'in stated.

"In order to have free will, one must earn it." Elenwen said. "The Empire is undisciplined, arrogant, and weak. They need masters, because that is the only way they know, that is the only way they will ever know." She said, in obvious impatience.

"Elenwen, I don't—." Relak'in tried to put in.

"There is unrest in the Imperial province of Skyrim. Have you heard of one Ulfric Stormcloak? Apparently, he isn't appeased with the outlawing of Talos worship. A full-scale rebellion is in effect. The Imperials have dispatched General Tullius of the 4th Legion to quell the nuisance, but his incompetence knows no bounds. Elven intervention is required!" She finished her sentence before inhaling heavily, plainly displaying her glee.

"As much as I'd love to, as you put it, 'quell' this rebellion, I have experiments to conduct and results to study. Please show yourself out." Relak'in said assertively.

Elenwen bit her lip. "You cannot turn down this offer. I won't allow it." She announced, rather too loudly.

"Elenwen, I'm an arcane magister, a government advisor, and a veteran. Not to mention a man. I can make my own decisions, and you have no say..." Relak'in said, very slowly, "... Ambassador, kindly remove yourself from my presence."

Without further ado, Elenwen twirled towards the staircase, and childishly stomped to the floor below. Relak'in heard strange voices, spoken in what he was sure was an ancient Daedric dialect. He had a vague idea of what they were saying. Mainly destroy, crush, murder. But mostly, burn. They were obviously dremora, summoned by Elenwen to destroy his home, and his life if they got the chance. But they wouldn't have that chance. Relak'in set to work immediately.

The ritual he would be performing would open a portal to the nearest residual appearance shrine. Normally, this would be a way to manifest a mage's being temporarily to a far away destination, mainly used for communication purposes. But, Relak'in had tweaked his altar to literally send his physical form to his destination. His astral form would remain behind, to watch over his research and supplies. He gathered the resources he would need (1 Daedra Heart, 2 Bone Meal, and 1 Astral Cap) and carved a circular tracing into the wooden floorboards with chalk. At this point, the dremora were literally on the top step of the staircase. Luckily, Relak'in protected his home with Charms against undead and demons. The top floor would remain completely safe, while he performed his ritual.

First, he withdrew a dagger and plunged it into the daedra heart. Then, he mixed the resulting blood with the bone meal, and ground the astral cap into the solution. Next, he poured it into a silver chalice and doused it in void salts before dumping it on the floor. Instead of an impossible disaster of a mess, Relak'in had created a swirling vortex. Its texture was watery, and a rancid smell of seawater filled his nostrils. He knew his destination, and smiled insidiously before hurling himself into the portal.

Relak'in appeared on the top of an ancient stone lighthouse mounted on top of a hill overlooking the Abecean Sea. An old man peered across the enormous brazier, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Knife-ear, you fiend, by what treacherous magic have you came to be here?" He shouted.

"Oh, I was just taking a stroll, you know, murdering innocents with my mind and setting buildings on fire, when I decided, 'Hey, let's go have tea with the old bastard at the lighthouse, and if he disagrees, I'll broil his old rump and hurl him into the sea.'" Relak'in said, obviously toying with the old man.

Obviously the lighthouse tender didn't see the humour in that statement. He withdrew a dagger from a holder on his belt, and advanced on the highly trained wizard.

Relak'in paralyzed the old man via Alteration magic. Next, to finish him off, the High Elf conjured a spike consisting of ice and hurled it at the frozen figure lying still on the ground. There was a soft grunt, and a small amount of blood, and the old man was no more.

Relak'in checked the corpse for anything of use. He found a map of the city of Anvil, where he currently was, on the south coast of the capital province of the Empire, Cyrodiil. It was rough already, but Relak'in jotted down some regional information...

Relak'in pocketed the hastily edited map and trotted leisurely down the spiraling staircase. There was an alcove of living space at the bottom, which was disorderly and reeked of alcohol. It was a rancid cesspool, so Relak'in fled as soon as he discovered the door.

The evening sun hit him like a beating hammer. It had painted the sky an illustrious gold-pink which reflected off the water only to be reapplied to the wooden hulls of the many schooners and brigs moored up in the Anvil Dockside. Relak'in once visited Anvil at the end of the third Era, during the Oblivion Crisis, to visit a business associate. It hadn't changed much since them. The city was divided into 7 regions, Westgate, Guildgate, Chapelgate, Dockside, Harborside, Castle Anvil, and the lighthouse. Relak'in walked to the docks, where sailors and residents alike toiled pointlessly. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rung like an eerie metronome. The seawater and sailors showered the docks in a pungent, salty, sweaty reek. They cast Relak'in stares of hate and loathing. It didn't matter, he thought. He'll just get a room in a different part of town.

Or so he thought. When he came to the site of what used to be a respectable tavern called "The Count's Arms", he beheld a shanty with a wooden door lose from its hinges. The windows were cracked, and boarded over from the inside. The roof was missing shingles, and was grimy beyond any hope of being clean. Relak'in didn't have anywhere else to be, so for curiosity's sake, he clambered in.

The shack's interior was similar to what he found outside. The portraits on the walls were ripped and torn, or smothered in projectiles like darts (among other things i.e. rolled up and chewed pieces of parchment). The counter was chipped and cracked; initials and crude drawings were carved into the surface of the counter. Behind the counter, a mouse of man fiddled with his fingers, and prattled away to a small spider in front of him, who probable has no interest in befriending the man.

"Excuse me. Is there any place in this town where I can find a place to stay, and not smell the repulsive stench of people like you?" Relak'in asked as he tapped the counter.

The man grunted and looked up. "Watch your tongue. The rest of us might not be as 'high and mighty' as you, but you can still treat us like people."

Relak'in raised his palm, and shook his head, before saying, "I've heard enough. Do you have anything to rent for a couple of weeks?"

"I've a small schooner moored up in the harbor. I'll sell it you permanently, for," he paused, "4500 septims? How does that sound?" He asked.

"Alright, deal. If you stop talking that is." Relak'in announced.

Relak'in tossed him a satchel of coins, which held considerably less than the agreed amount, and he, in return, received a rusted key, that would fit the lock on the Morning Tide, a schooner anchored at the docks.

Relak'in retraced his previous steps to the Anvil Dockside. He came to a moderately sized ship, which was decorated by a slender carving of a cloudless sky and a ship sailing far off into the distance. This mural was imprinted on the starboard side of the hull. A figurehead of a lion triumphantly projected from the bow of the ship. Exhilarated, Relak'in anxiously made his way across the gangplank and onto the smooth deck of the Morning's Tide.

The deck had three tiers. A spiraling staircase led from the deck to the bow. The bow consisted of the wheel, the figurehead decoration, and a mast which held the rigging for the foresail, staysail, and the jib. High above, the rigging held in a significantly larger sail known as the 'Fisherman'. On many levels, spars jutted out sharply from the mast.

The stern housed the captain's cabin, forecastle, hold, brig, and passenger's quarters. The High Elf magister, barely containing his excitement, made his way to the captain's quarters.

The quarters resembled the fanciest of living spaces one could ever spend a septim on. The trick was, it was all shoved into a crevice only about 15 feet by 20 feet. Alas, it was all that he required. This would be his home, until the Aldmeri found him. Which they will, he thought. Unfortunately, his hypothesis was correct.

They came for him on the **27****th**** of Heartfire, 4E171, **two years after Elenwen's offer to Relak'in. He had spent these two years frolicking on his vessel, making slight improvements and tweaks where ever he could.

He found the courage to take a scenic tour of the Abecean Sea to the port of Stros M'kai in the kingdom of Hammerfell in that year. As he docked in the harbor, he noticed a multitude of ships with gilded engravings moored parallel to him. He cursed. The Altmer had arrived on Stros M'kai.

Relak'in scampered up the waterfront and up a cracked limestone staircase. It led him to a settlement. Homes constructed of a cinnamon coloured wood dotted the environment around him, and cobbled pathways and streets wound their way around the structures. He followed one said pathway to what looked to be a marketplace. He gazed around the entire area, and spotted a pair of what looked to be High Elven twins, dressed in sinister midnight black robes with embroidered collars and designs etched along the trim. One was hooded, while the other revealed his face. His brunette hair was parted at the center and dangled down to his shoulders. He was obviously a Thalmor 'ambassador'. A terrorist, more like. He was engaged in a heated argument with a Redguard, a native of Hammerfell.

The Redguard's head was clean shaven, and his expression revealed inner danger. His moustache was bleached blonde, which looked terrible, but if you told him that, Relak'in figured that the results wouldn't have been satisfying. By his side stood a young girl with flowing and long dark hair, and she was obviously assisting with the argument. Relak'in analyzed her, and realized she must the Redguard man's daughter. She looked not much older than eighteen years of age, but her eyes silently burned with the same danger that encumbered her father's. As Relak'in got closer, he realized that the Redguard's hand encircled a marble flagon, and a jeweled knife was strapped to the girl's belt on a holster. It was at that moment, that he knew the Elves' lives were about to cease, and he needed to have some of the fun.

Relak'in reached them just before the Redguards attacked. The girls shoved her weapon into the hooded elves thigh.

"By the sweet mother of the Divines, bitch! You will pay for that!" He shrieked.

But by the time, he reached for the knife, it was too late. The tankard-wielder shoved the other elf away, withdrew the weapon from the encroacher's leg, and shoved it into his arm. He then turned away to deal with the elf that had his attention previously.

Relak'in ripped the knife out the man's arm, which ruptured the tissue, and cut his arm almost completely off. Massive amounts of blood leaked continuously from the wound, as he fell to the ground, writhing in complete agony.

Relak'in passed the girl the knife, and summoned the Icy Spear spell on the elf on the ground. A long, slender, spear of frost formed in his head, and he shuddered violently, before ceasing all movement. Relak'in had killed him. He reached for the spear, its tip drenched in blood, and withdrew it from the man's head.

The tankard-wielder was handling the elf. He was throwing him into market stalls, and smashing him with the mug. Relak'in wouldn't have that primitive strategy. He stealthily drew up to the man, spear in hand, and thrust it through his heart from behind. The entry wound was a gaping hole oozing with crimson blood. He coughed, and a multitude of blood burst from his mouth, as he fell limp onto the cobbled street. Relak'in snickered insidiously. The pair of Redguards waited a moment before the man spoke.

"I am Tebor Sennele, patriarch of the Sennele clan. This is one of my daughters, Netenya. And you," he said, "are an honourless creature."

Relak'in coughed, "Well, then. A prime example of Imperial hospitality, that."

"I respect your help in this matter, but to not fight _alongside _your brothers is... treason." Tebor said assertively.

"You have me mistaken for a Thalmor have you? Listen; there are more ships in the harbor. Bring torches, or anything to set them ablaze. I won't be here long, and I want to have my fun."

Tebor nodded, and grabbed Netenya by the arm as he sauntered away. Relak'in turned back towards the docks. It's time for some amusement, he thought.

"By the gods that dwell in Aetherius, our ships are on fire!" a Thalmor wizard cried in confusion.

Relak'in stood by Netenya as she smothered a ship's hull with a flammable liquid. As she would dispense it, he would ignite it with Flames. The ships fell one by one, into the murky water, the flames by which they met their demise still danced and whipped across the water's surface. The Thalmor insisted on firing arrows at the three attackers, which came frightfully close, but always ended up sliding into the water with a faint swish. The Altmer were not known for their archery. In any case, soon enough, the Thalmor flotilla was decimated, excluding the flagship. Master Relak'in had special plans for that particular ship.

As he and his companions clambered out of the water and onto the wharf, Relak'in noticed a familiar women standing opposite him on the dock. She summoned a set of emerald coloured balls of energy in her hands. Relak'in knew that spell all too well. In a flash, his Redguard friends were paralyzed, and he was alone, with his adversary.

"Elenwen, we meet again!" Relak'in shouted over the caw of a gull.

"So we do. This time, on much less friendly terms, it seems." She said as she got closer.

Relak'in cast a Flame Cloak, so she wouldn't get to close. She cast a Frost Cloak in return. The two energies relentlessly as she neared his vicinity. Steam hissed above them, followed by a snapping noise.

"You Thalmor are a waste. And now, they will be down one ambassador." Relak'in put it plainly.

"That's an ironic comment coming from you! You haven't done anything further your own cause in the last three centuries, much less anyone else's!" She cried, in half anger, half amusement.

Relak'in snarled, and cast a Life Drain spell in her direction, and hit impacted with her square in the chest. Hundreds of miniscule red orbs drained from her and into him. Almost on cue, her Cloak spell broke, and she was engulfed in flame. Suddenly, a wave of water rose from the ocean and extinguished the flame. She burst from the water, and cast an Ice Spike at him. He just dodged out of the way in time before he returned fire, literally. He hurled Firebolt after Firebolt at her, rarely impacting. As the battle moved into a close range phase, they transitioned to channeled spells. She wielded an Ice Spike and Frostbite in her hands, whilst Relak'in used Flames and Firebolt. He found it amusing, a battle of the elements. Suddenly, she froze his legs together with her Frostbite spell, and slapped him across the face, before impaling him with an ice spike. He coughed violently, and looked down to examine the wound. He then suddenly looked up, and gave Elenwen a wicked smirk. His skin began to freeze and tighten. All of a sudden, his coat of ice broke, and he had disappeared.

Elenwen turned away laughing. "Master Wizard. How amusing." She muttered.

What she didn't notice, was the sudden temperature drop, and the swirling orb of ice forming where Relak'in once stood. The High Elf/Orb shot furiously towards its target. The ice formed a protective shield around itself as it entered her body, and punctured a spherical entry and exit wound through her chest. Without another word, she crumpled to the ground.

Relak'in rematerialized. "Yes," he sniggered, "a Master Wizard."

Tebor stood at the end of the wharf. He obviously broke out of the paralysis nearly as soon it was cast. He greeted Relak'in.

"Nice job, my friend. Very flashy" he sneered.

Relak'in nodded, and gazed downward. Netenya was still affected by the spell. He cast a Charm to disable Elenwen's hold on her, and as he did so, her frozen position broke, and her breathing resumed. She opened her eyes, and looked at him. She bit her lip.

"Thanks." She muttered.

Relak'in nodded. He looked around, furrowing his brow. The Thalmor were _gone, _andso was the flagship. He sprinted to the end of the dock, only to see the Elven flagship sailing to the east, towards _**Anvil.**_


	2. Dawn and Dusk

**7****th****of Heartfire 4E171**

**Master Relak'in **

**Unaligned – The Abecean Coast**

**-Chapter Two, 'Dawn and Dusk'**

The moons Secunda and Masser were far past their zeniths when the Queen of the Night Sky came to him. Relak'in parted ways with Netenya and Tebor after the duel with Elenwen, so he could pursue the Aldmeri on course for the city of Anvil. Relak'in sat peacefully in an ornately decorative chair. His fingers were intertwined as he thoughtfully looked over some nautical charts. He gazed out the tinted glass windows pointed sternward.

He sighed and clambered into his bed. It was queen sized, and took up much of the cabin's space. By his estimations, he was approximately four miles past the large island of Stirk. He lost sight of the Elves a couple hours back. Their flotilla used a sleek design that caught the wind steadily. They were designed for mobility. His vessel was designed for luxury. Still, he hoped he could catch up to those blasted Thalmor before they destroyed everything living thing in that city. But, one inquiry still swamped his mind like a murky lagoon on a still moonlit night. _Why are the Aldmeri so interested in Anvil?_ He turned over in his bed. _Anvil is an Imperial town. They could be trying to strike fear into the Empire's heart. Or, possibly, they know that he had been residing there for the last couple years. _He groaned in frustration. Too many possibilities, too many unknowns, too many variables, he thought. In a fit of hopelessness, he drifts into a fitful and uncomfortable sleep.

"Open your eyes, child of the Altmer," a shimmering, almost metallic voice requested of Relak'in, "I would speak to you."

His eyes flickered open lightly. Somehow, he felt weightless, and renewed physically, mentally, and spiritually. He didn't recognize his surroundings, nor did he visualize the origin of the voice that spoke to him. He was in a marble palace. Roses intertwined and circled each other, and completely smothered every corner of the room. The only part not flower-bearing was a vista that looked out into a swirling vortex of ethereal dust and stars. He noticed an entrance to another room, again overgrown by the thorny roses. He gingerly wrapped his fingers around the knob and twisted.

He found himself on a balcony overlooking the same panoramic view he noticed before. Leaning on a railing, was a woman. The roses around her hummed brightly and spat out a multitude of dew droplets. She smiled, and time itself seemed to stop. The dust and stars collected behind her were shaded emerald and turquoise, and were ever changing and shifting. She was dressed in a pale white gown, and an ethereal star and crescent moon orbited her form. It seemed like the stars themselves were made from the fabric of her very being. And Relak'in knew who she was.

"Azura, the Daedric Lord of Dawn and Dusk. It's a pleasure to meet you." he said, surprised for the first time in a century.

"The pleasure is mine. I have been watching you. I don't understand your actions, but you're the only hope for a foreign land. You must aid a struggling fighting force, and a less struggling one. You will find love, hate, betrayal, hope, and deception in a fierce and cold land." she said, her voice faintly twinkling.

Relak'in snorted in derision. "I hardly think that's plausible."

Azura winced. "There is one more thing you will discover if you continue on this path. Death. If you continue to this 'Anvil', you will be destroyed. Your brothers are razing the city. It's already in ruins. They're waiting for you."

Relak'in paused for a moment. He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What am I to do?" he enquired.

Azura stared into his eyes. Her pupils seemed to contract, dilate, and sparkle with colour. Not bearing to maintain the stare any longer, he broke his gaze and looked out into the abyss.

Azura answered, "You must go to the land of Skyrim. You're to be accompanied by a familiar face. Once there, speak to Falion. He is a necromancer. He will help you. Ask him to perform the Forever Sleep. He resides in Morthal, in Hjaalmarch. You're destined for so many things, some great, some sinister. You will leave a mark on Mundus. It's your choice how deep that mark must be carved."

Relak'in pondered this. "I'm destined to be your enemy. I can feel it. You and I, we cannot maintain this bond." he stated, much to his surprise. Perhaps, he was performing calculus of the situation deep with his conscious.

Azura looked down. "The secret to your future of success is a small but powerful creature. Even you cannot shape its opinion. It's much too resilient for that. It will resent you for your actions, but you require it to perform them. You're destined to become something terrible. And nothing can stop it."

Relak'in tried to speak, but couldn't. Azura approached him. The creases in her dress folded together, and snapped violently. She put her hand on his forehead. He felt increasingly soothed. A soft natural hymn sounded in his mind.

"Go child. We will speak again, but not in the near future." she admitted.

"As you wish, my lady. Be well." Relak'in reluctantly said.

With that, Relak'in felt a surge of electric shock plummet through his nervous system. The strange world of beauty dissipated. He was back in his cabin. The light of a new dawn flooded through the velvet curtains. Relak'in smiled.

He sailed far past Anvil. He skimmed the coast of Valenwood, and sailed around the peninsula of Elsweyr. Relak'in arrived at the city of Leyawiin in about fifty hours. It remained more or less the same as when he was last there, in the time of the Oblivion crisis. He came here to study magic at the Mage's Guild, before it dispersed. Now, there was a lot more Argonians and Khajiit. _Probably fleeing the dominion_, Relak'in thought.

He made his way to the city gate and purchased a stallion as black a cavern in the dark of night. With all the events transpired, he proceeded to hail him as 'Dusk'. He mounted his horse, and rode to the north. He passed the Imperial city, stealthily of course. The Thalmor embassies were just outside the gates, where the stables used to be. The lookouts saw nothing more than a tall, slim, and hooded figure riding bareback on a jet black stallion. On his way north, he came to a crossroad. Relak'in knew that the eastern path lead to Cheydinhal, and the northern to Bruma. He coaxed Dusk into heading north, into the falling flakes of white.

He didn't stop at Bruma. He continued north to Pale Pass, the gateway to the province of _Skyrim._ At once he halted at a monument known only as Dragonclaw Rock. His breath hung in the air. This brought back many memories of assisting the countess of Bruma, Narina Carvain. He shook his head. _This wasn't the time_, he thought.

He continued along the abandoned path, until he came to a large wooden gate. He sighed. _This is it_.

His road led him down a mountain pass into the town of Helgen. The road and the village were deserted. _Nothing to worry about_, he thought, _it's early in the morning_. He rode fast down a switchback trail, which led him to the small hamlet titled 'Riverwood'. He paid it little attention to it. He crossed the river, and followed another switchback to a large expanse of plains. In the distance, past a multitude of breweries and farms, the walls of the city of Whiterun, and the Jarl's Palace, Dragonsreach, triumphantly protruded, like a beacon of civilization in an utterly savage land. Relak'in slowed Dusk's pace to a gallop. No need to look suspicious for these Nords. He was hated enough.


End file.
